


Nobody Likes the Matinee Show

by SmileAndASong



Category: Bandom, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - No Band, Awkward Flirting, Back to the Future References, Closeted Character, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmileAndASong/pseuds/SmileAndASong
Summary: The one time a guy is actually looking at Ryan, and of course, it’s the weirdo who comes to the theater every single day to see Back to the Future.
Relationships: Ryan Seaman/Dallon Weekes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Nobody Likes the Matinee Show

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this solely so I could make bad jokes about Ryan Seaman and Ryan Ross having the same name? Is Ryan Ross here for no reason other than that? Did I just want to indulge on a chance to bag on Brendon Urie and Ronnie Radke? Do I love making Dallon as strange as possible? Definitely a 'yes' to all of that!
> 
> But for real, I've been loving idkhow a lot as of late, especially Dallon and Ryan and their sweetness, so this is just something goofy I threw together very quickly. This fic isn't tied to any of the idkhow lore, other than the obvious connections to the 1980s setting and the gratuitous Back to the Future references. 
> 
> The title is a play on "Nobody Likes the Opening Band" by, of course, idkhow.
> 
> Fic is unbeta'd and a little sloppy, any mistakes are my own, and comments and kudos are always appreciated. Happy Back to the Future day (yes, I specifically waited until today to post this), and thank you so much for taking the time to read.

“Oh god, he’s here again…” Ryan -- not _him_ Ryan, but the Ryan with the more fortunate last name -- grumbles as he looks toward the entrance of the theater.

“Huh?” Ryan -- as in, yes, _him_ Ryan, the one with the worst last name in the world -- asks. He looks up from the puddle of bright blue slushie that he’s in the midst of cleaning and leans against his mop. “Who’s ‘he’?”

“Back to the Future guy.” Other Ryan points to an exceptionally tall, slim man at the ticket counter. He stands out; not just because of his height, but because of the white lab coat that he’s wearing and the strange...thing on his head that looks to be made out of a repurposed bowl, a lot of aluminum foil, duct tape, and a string of Christmas lights. Where the hell is he getting the electricity for that?

The man notices Ryan staring and glances his way, making direct (and pretty intense) eye contact. 

Startled, Ryan jolts slightly, and in true coward fashion, he turns away and goes back to mopping up the slushie spill. “What’s his deal, exactly?” He asks, keeping his voice low. Not that the man can realistically hear them from across the lobby, but who’s to say what that thing on his head does?

“He likes Back to the Future, as I’m sure you’ve figured out already,” Other Ryan says, dryly. “And he comes in and sees it almost every day. He’s got to have seen it like twenty times by now.”

Ryan lets out a low whistle and dips the mop back in the bucket. “Wow, and I haven’t even seen it once. Or him for that matter.”

“Because you never work the matinee shift. How you constantly get out of it is beyond me,” Other Ryan complains, huffing. “And the movie is pretty fun and all, I guess, but seeing any movie thirty times in a row is a little weird." Right, as if _that_ is the part about the guy that’s strange. 

To be fair, Other Ryan’s never been too normal himself. 

“Spencer saw him the other day when he went to clean the theater,” Other Ryan continues. “And he was still in there after the credits. Just sitting there, taking notes.”

“Taking notes on what?” Ryan asks.

Other Ryan shrugs. “Who knows?” He turns and glances over his shoulder. “Hey, don’t look now, but he’s looking at you.”

“Believe me, I’ve been trying to not look at him since he walked in,” Ryan mumbles, slowly circling the mop over what’s left of the spill. “And, why is he looking at me anyway?”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s checking you out?” Other Ryan suggests. “Because he’s for sure staring. And it’s not like a stare of disgust or judgment. He seems curious, interested.”

Ryan snorts. “Well that’s a first...”

“Y’know, under those bug-eye glasses and whatever the hell is on his head, he’s not bad looking.”

“Then why don’t you go for him? Oh wait, no, you’re seeing that guy! Brandon, right?”

“Brendon,” Other Ryan corrects and his nose scrunches up a little. “And no, I’m not. And if I _do_ see him again, it’ll be too damn soon.”

“I take it the date didn’t go well?”

“That’s the understatement of the century. How can I possibly date someone who has never heard a single Queen song?” Other Ryan laments, like that’s the worst atrocity one can commit in life. 

To be fair, it is pretty bad.

“He’s a Mormon right? Or a former one?” Ryan asks. “They probably think Freddie Mercury’s the devil or something like that.”

Other Ryan scoffs. “Yeah, Freddie Mercury and us too.” 

Ryan Ross was the first other gay person that Ryan Seaman had ever met. As if the odds of meeting another gay person in 1985 aren’t already slim to nonexistent, but the odds of meeting one who shares your name _and_ your place of employment? Freaky stuff.

Needless to say, they became very fast friends, and now, Ryan’s lucky enough to have someone watching out for both his safety and his dating life.

Although, he’s not so sure if Back to the Future guy is good for his safety _or_ his dating life, even if his friend seems to think so.

“He’s totally coming this way.” Ryan peels himself off of the concession stand counter where he’d been sitting and stretches his arms out, yawning. “And wow, would you look at the time? I gotta go clean the matinee theaters before the evening rush.”

Ryan eyes him, a dubious expression on his face. “You hate cleaning theaters, especially the matinee ones--” It’s always just a cesspool of the mess left by the children and the elderly. Everybody hates cleaning matinees.. “--and now suddenly you’re rushing to them?”

“Yep, what can I say? Watching you mop that same spill for the past twenty-five minutes really inspired my work ethic. You’re truly a model employee, Ryan Seaman.” Other Ryan smirks and gives a two finger wave. “Good luck.”

Ryan opens his mouth to quip back at him, but before he can even get a word out, he hears an eerily smooth voice from behind him.

“Excuse me.”

Ryan jolts and nearly knocks over the bucket of soap water as he stumbles. Whipping his head around, he turns to see, who else, but Back to the Future Guy. He’s got this unnerving blank expression on his face, and he’s standing close to Ryan. Far closer than what’s commonly deemed as socially acceptable, though not so close that it’s suggestive. 

But creepy? Oh, most definitely.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” He says, and he doesn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. He extends his ticket stub toward Ryan. “Could you kindly point me in the direction of theater 8?”

If he’s been here as many times as Other Ryan claims, shouldn’t he know how to get to theater 8 already? They’ve definitely shown Back to the Future in that one; he’s probably been in it at least a couple of times. 

Meaning, he’s not here because he needs help -- he’s here because he _wants_ to talk to Ryan.

Ryan forces a smile that the tall man does not return. “Oh, yeah, it’s right down this hallway to the right.”

Back to the Future Guy nods. “Thank you.” He does not leave. He stays, standing completely still and just staring at Ryan, that same blank and unblinking expression still on his face.

“Yeah, of course.” An uncomfortable silence passes between them, the tall man _still_ not leaving. Ryan clears his suddenly very dry throat before speaking, “It’s uh, starting in a few minutes, y’know. I wouldn’t want you to be late.”

“I’ve seen it,” The man answers immediately. “Twenty-three times, to be specific.”

“Twenty-three times? Damn, I really gotta get on seeing it, then! You’d think it’d be easy to see movies, y’know, since I work here and it’s free, but coming back here after I punch out is just like the last thing I wanna do,” Ryan jokes and he chuckles, hoping that maybe he can get the guy to at least crack a smile. 

Nothing. And he still doesn’t leave! Great.

“...so,” Ryan continues, because the awkward conversation is far more comfortable than the silence. “Do you just really like it or something? Or are you like a big fan of Family Ties dude? There’s gotta be some reason you’ve seen it twenty-three times.”

“It’s for research purposes.”

“Research purposes? Ryan parrots back. “What exactly are you researching?”

“Several concepts and experiments, but this particular research is all based in time travel.”

“You’re researching time travel?”

“Yes. I’m going to invent time travel,” The man says, and there’s not a single shred of doubt in his voice. 

Ryan doesn’t think he’s ever said anything so confidently in his life, and here this guy is, talking about how he’s going to invent friggin’ time travel, with his main basis for it coming from a movie about a teenager who nearly dates his own mother.

He _should_ find this strange. He _should_ be leaving and avoiding this man at all costs, for the sake of his own wellbeing and sanity. But somehow, it’s not offputting, nor is it alarming (well, maybe a little). It’s very...intriguing. Alluring. And it’s enough to finally give him the courage to meet the man’s gaze, look into those striking blue eyes of his. They’re pretty in a way that Ryan wasn’t anticipating, even with that thick barrier of cheap plastic from his glasses shrouding them.

“That’s…” Ryan pauses for a moment, trying to find the right word and sentiment for what he’s feeling right now, because even he’s not so sure. “...cool.”

The tall man raises a brow, finally breaching his stagnant expression with some emotion “Cool?”

“Yeah!” Ryan says, nodding. “It’s very cool that you’re so dedicated to this! I mean, how many people are out there actually trying to make time travel a thing beyond movies or comic books? And you’re actually doing it. That’s...that’s cool…”

“Cool…” The man repeats, saying the word like it’s so foreign to him, like he’s never said it before in his life. “Yes, I think you’re right, it is very...cool. Thank you for your insight, Mr…” He leans in close, and this time, it is most definitely veering into a suggestive territory. 

Ryan blushes, briefly panicking before he realizes what the man is trying to do: read his name tag. Duh! “Oh, Ryan!” He adjusts his name tag so it’s now more visible. “I’m Ryan.”

“Ryan,” The man repeats, lingering in the close proximity for what feels like an eternity before stepping back and extending a hand for a shake. “Dallon. Dallon Weekes.”

Ryan shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dallon. Or do you prefer Doctor?” He gestures to the lab coat.

“I’m impartial,” The man -- Dallon -- says, taking his hand back and adjusting the contraption on his head. “Say, could you spare your mind for a brief moment?”

Ryan blinks slowly. “My...mind?”

“Yes, for my brain-wave analyzer,” Dallon points to the thing on his head. “I’ve yet to test it on a human mind. But rest assured, it’s safe and works perfectly fine on canines.”

“I...I’m kind of on the clock, I don’t know if I’m allowed to have my mind read at work? I mean, we’re not even allowed to eat on the clock, and I really gotta get to--” Ryan is cut off as Dallon places a rubber suction cup on his forehead, a thin wire connecting it to the device on his head. 

Dallon puts both of his hands on the sides of the bowl and shuts his eyes, humming as he begins to ramble. “Let’s see you’re a young man. Mid 20s, you’ve lived in this town your whole life....” 

Most people have lived here their whole lives, people rarely left this town, and Ryan’s pretty sure he looks his age. So far, he’s not too impressed, but he still confirms it with a curt nod.

“And you’re a creative sort, an artist!” Dallon exclaims. “You’re an artist?” Dallon opens his eyes and looks at Ryan expectantly.

Ryan bites down on his lip. “Well I do music, but it’s just for fun? I don’t know if that’s really art though...”

“Of course it’s art, music is the best sort of art!” Dallon closes his eyes again and tightens his grip on the bowl. “Yes, yes, you...music...you’re a drummer. You play the drums!”

“Woah! I am! I mean, uh, I do!” It’s probably just a lucky guess, but still, pretty cool the guy deduced that.

“And you...you’re in a band? Or you were in a band? Yes, yes, you recently left it...”

“Yeah, yeah, I was!”

“And you left the band because you got in a disagreement with the lead singer. Because he found out...found out...a secret of yours! He threatened to tell everyone that you...that you’re…” Dallon’s voice trails off and he doesn’t finish speaking, but the shocked look on his face says it all. He ‘read’ Ryan’s full thought, alright. 

And Ryan, he just stares at Dallon, dumbfounded and exposed. He didn’t tell anyone about why he left the band, about what Ronnie had said, or rather, figured out about him. Hell, not even Other Ryan knew, and he was the only person Ryan could realistically trust with this. How the hell did Dallon know? How did he _do_ that?

Dallon hesitates before he reaches out for the suction cup and awkwardly removes it from Ryan’s forehead. He purses his lips together, a contemplative expression on his face as he looks up from the stained and gaudy carpet and meets Ryan’s gaze.

And as Ryan stares into those chilling blue eyes, it all starts to make sense, as he now sees something new in them. There's a warmth in them, an understanding, a sense of sympathy and solidarity. A ‘me too’, if you will.

For the brain-wave analyzer, it hadn’t just read Ryan. It read Dallon, too. 

Clearly, this is _not_ a component of the hypothesis for Dallon’s little mind reading experiment, but that’s the thing about science -- results can and will vary. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Far from it.

“So, uh, I guess it worked!” Ryan finally says, unable to take the tense silence any longer. “Congratulations, Doctor, you can now read dog and human minds! Although realistically, mine’s probably not that different from a dog’s, just maybe not as intelligent”

Once again Dallon does not join in on Ryan’s laughter, but the corners of his lips curl up into what just barely resembles a grin. “Thank you.” He stands more upright and adjusts his tie. “You were a great test subject with a fine mind to read. But for now, I must get to my other research.”

“Right, yeah, the movie. I’ve gotta get back to work myself, I slacked off far too much today as it is.” Ryan steps back and gives a small wave, smiling. “Enjoy the show, Doctor!”

Dallon nods stiffly and starts to walk away. He only makes it midway down the hall before stopping in his tracks and turning on his heel. “You know,” He says, making his way back toward Ryan. “I may be in need of some help with other experiments. Of the music variety, to be specific. I have some theories concerning drum vibrations and the time space continuum, and I’ve been itching to put them to the test.”

“You play music?” Ryan asks, his interest piqued.

“Of course. It is the finest form of art and expression.” The sort of half-smile resurfaces back on Dallon’s face. “If you’re interested, perhaps you could assist me with them. We could form a bamd.”

“Don’t you mean band?”

“No, bamd, as in B-A-M-D,” Dallon says, his voice assured. “Biological Appli -- I’ll explain more in a private setting, you never know who might be listening around here…” He looks side to side, then over his shoulder, and then opens the trash can beside him and peers into it, before he returns back to Ryan.

“So. What do you say?” 

Once again, Ryan should find this all strange (what could drums have to do with the time space whatever? Who does he think is following him? What the hell is a bamd?). But it’s just so intriguing, it’s so alluring. No, _he_ is so intriguing, _he_ is so alluring. And in the back of his head, Ryan just knows that Dallon is asking for more than just help with his little ‘bamd’ theory.

His unwavering confidence has faltered, slightly, overtaken by anxiousness as he rocks back and forth on his heels, looking down at Ryan with those bright eyes. There's this spark of hopefulness in them, his attention is undivided and solely focused on Ryan, looking at him as if he’s the only person in the theater (although it's not like anyone else is around; matinees on Wednesdays are always the slowest time of the week).

Perhaps the (slightly mad) scientist has found a brand new hypothesis to test; one that requires the expertise of someone who already completed this very experiment.

It’s all in the name of science. And really, who is Ryan to deny the call of scientific curiosity?

“I say let’s do it,” Ryan says with a smile, and finally, Dallon reciprocates with one of his own. “Let’s start a bamd.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't seen Back to the Future, [this](https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/bttf/images/7/7c/Doc-mindreader.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20080916000813) is what the brain wave analyzer from the film looks like and what Dallon is wearing on his head. Only his is significantly crappier, of course.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and as always, you can check me out on [tumblr](https://smileandasong.tumblr.com/) (and i WILL know how you found me, because i linked it here <3)


End file.
